


I Love You To The Core

by the_sky_is_forever



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Agender Character, Agender Montparnasse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Minor Violence, Miscommunication, Other, Romantic Jehan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:22:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4922947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sky_is_forever/pseuds/the_sky_is_forever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Montparnasse finds it hard to tear their eyes away from Jean Prouvaire. They learn that he prefers to be called Jehan; they learn that he can spin his words like poetry; they learn – most painfully – that he’s in love.<br/>Montparnasse listens as Jehan creates songs in his stories of this stranger – this stranger who is a dream come to reality – and they can’t stop listening.</p><p>Title from Andreas Moe's Ocean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Love You To The Core

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Winterfxrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterfxrest/gifts).



> Jehan does get beaten up in this fic. Just a warning. He's okay, though.
> 
> This is for my friend Jess who came up with most of the plot for this a lifetime ago, and charged me with the wondrous task of writing it. Because I'm awful, it's taken me forever, but here we are!  
> I suppose this is my 'New House' gift to you - welcome to England with a bit of angst. xx

To the ever-growing annoyance of one Montparnasse, Jean Prouvaire is a man of many mysteries.

It started when Montparnasse and their friends came across a merry little group of activists, who called themselves Les Amis. At first, Montparnasse smirked, scoffed, and thought of them as foolish young men who didn’t know anything of which they talked. It became a fun pastime for Montparnasse and their friends – who go by the name Patron Minette – to hang out by Les Amis and, well, heckle them.

Montparnasse and the others found this fun, and Les Amis seemed to find it an incredible annoyance. It worked well for everyone.

Until one day one of Les Amis demanded that they treat Les Amis with some respect. In any other circumstance, the Patron Minette would have laughed in their face, but not that time: because that person – that member of Les Amis – was Jean Prouvaire.

Jean Prouvaire’s hair was braided up into the most intricate do, his eyeliner ended in swirls, and his boots had flowers drawn on them. And he was absolutely ruthless.

Montparnasse blinked in surprise as Jean Prouvaire glared up at them, spitting words like venom at them. Then their face started to edge into a wry smile, looking down at this man who had fire burning through his veins. That only seemed to piss off little Jean Prouvaire even more, and with a last glare, he turned his back on Montparnasse and never looked back.

That was the start of Montparnasse’s wonder over the man.

It didn’t stop the Patron Minette from hanging about Les Amis, and it didn’t stop Montparnasse’s friends from yelling abuse and being a general annoyance to the social activists, but it did leave Montparnasse on the side-lines.

Now, when they go to the bar to drink and mock, Montparnasse finds it hard to tear their eyes away from Jean Prouvaire. They learn that he prefers to be called Jehan; they learn that he can spin his words like poetry; they learn – most painfully – that he’s in _love_.

Montparnasse listens as Jehan creates songs in his stories of this stranger – this stranger who is a dream come to reality – and they can’t stop listening.

*

Jehan’s in love. In love with a person who could never return his affections. In love with a person who has eyes like the night and the smile of a kind-hearted person that has been turned to wickedness, despite their true desires.

Jehan’s in love with Montparnasse, leader of the Patron Minette. He’s in love with a thief. He’s in love with a crook. He’s in love with someone who doesn’t hope for a brighter future because they don’t see it as possible.

Jehan’s in love with a sad, beautiful person.

Jehan’s in love with a person he’s only talked to once, and that was to yell at them for being inconsiderate. Even he has to admit that it’s a little messed up.

He tells his friends of this love, telling all who will listen what it’s like to be in love with someone who has the night within them, but he never says their name.

*

It’s a month after the confrontation when one of the other members of Les Amis approaches Montparnasse, looking like she’s coming for a fight. Montparnasse rises out of their seat, lifting their hands in an attempt to calm this woman, tearing their eyes away from Jehan.

“ _Stop glaring at him_ ,” the woman hisses, and Montparnasse freezes.

“I beg your pardon?” they ask. Montparnasse’s friends are over by the bar, ordering more drinks, and they sit alone, frowning in confusion at the woman standing in front of them, hands on her hips.

“I said stop glaring at Jehan. He’s done nothing to you. If this is about when he tried to get you and your piss-baby friends to leave us the fuck alone then you need to grow the fuck up,” she tells him, matter-of-factly.

Montparnasse blinks. “What?” they say, still in shock. “I’m not-” they break off.

She raises one eyebrow, unimpressed. “Stay the hell away from him. If I hear that you’ve come anywhere near him I will make you _pay_.”

As soon as the words have left her lips, someone calls over to her: “Bahorel, leave them alone, what are you doing?” exasperation written in their tone.

She gives Montparnasse one last disgusted look before turning on her heel and stalking away.

Montparnasse sits in stunned silence for the rest of the night but their eyes keep sliding back to Jehan, no matter how much they try to stop themselves.

Jehan talks about his love, and Montparnasse sits in silence.

*

Jehan can always feel Montparnasse looking at him, but he never responds, because it’s impossible to think that the person that reminds him of so many things would be good for him.

Jehan knows what he’s doing – or he thinks he does – and he refuses to look at Montparnasse.

There are many reasons for this, the most crucial being that Montparnasse has a gang – and that’s in the literal term, and not in the ‘Courfeyrac Referring To His Friends’ way. Another reason is that he’s scared.

Jehan believes in love. Jehan’s a romantic who values the thought of throwing everything on the line to be with the person you love, but Jehan’s also scared as hell. There is a difference between poems and real life: in one it wouldn’t be an issue to pursue the romantic interest in a known criminal, but in another it could be life-threatening.

Sometimes Jehan wishes his life actually were a poem, like all his friends says it is.

Grantaire especially thinks he’s ridiculous, but then again, Grantaire can hardly look at the man they’re in love with so they’re not exactly the best person to go to for advice about love.

*

One day Montparnasse decides to throw Bahorel’s warnings to the ground and works up the courage to try and talk to Jehan because – for some reason – they can’t seem to get the beautiful, alluring man out of their mind.

They wait until Jehan’s meeting has come to an end, because they know that Jehan won’t give them the time of day while there’s _social justice_ to be done, and as Les Amis all gather up their things, Montparnasse downs the rest of their drink and gets to their feet.

Their heart pounds violently inside their chest and they barely have a chance to think of what they’re going to say as they cross the room. They keep their eyes fixed on him – on his back as he hunches over the table, scribbling something down on a piece of paper – but before they can get there, Jehan jumps to his feet, swishing his long hair and shouldering his bag, calling out, “Must dash – I have a _date_ ,” joyously, and all but prancing out the room.

Montparnasse feels their heart sink, their stomach clench, but then someone grabs them by the shoulder and spins them round.

Coming face to face with one Bahorel, Montparnasse feels bitter disappointment. They shove Bahorel’s hand off their shoulder and spit, “Don’t worry about it, he’s _gone_.”

“I told you to stay the hell away,” Bahorel says, sounding confused.

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Montparnasse says, sullenly.

“What do you even want with him?” the woman asks, and Montparnasse shrugs.

“Nothing. Doesn’t matter.” They slink back to the bar, clap Claquesous on the shoulder – who turns mid-conversation with Babet – and tells him that they’re going home.

All night, all they can think of is who this person Jehan’s so in love with is, and how on earth Montparnasse could live up to this person who must be so _amazing_ to have caught the attention of _Jean Prouvaire_.

*

There is little that Jehan loves more than the sky, and this night is set to be a full moon so it’s not something he’s going to miss out on. He calls Grantaire, making sure that his friend is set for the night, and they arrange to meet on the Pont des Arts as the sun sets, Grantaire with their sketchbook, and Jehan with his notebook.

It’s almost a tradition – when they know the sky will be clear, or feel that the moon will be particularly beautiful, they pick a bridge over the Seine and sit there for hours, drawing and writing.

It’s one of Jehan’s favourite things to do, so, as soon as the meeting is over, he’s out the door, calling out to his friends about his date with the night.

*

The next time they go back to the bar, Jehan’s not there, and Montparnasse can’t help the spike of worry that shoots through them.

At the end of the night, they approach one of the members of Les Amis – a charming looking man – and asks, “Is Jehan alright?”

The man frowns. Montparnasse thinks he might be called Combeferre. “He’s fine. Why?” On second thought maybe his name is Courfeyrac. He’s certain there are members of Les Amis called these names, though he’s unsure which is which.

“He’s not here tonight. I was concerned,” Montparnasse explains. “I’m glad he’s okay,” they then add, and give either Combeferre or Courfeyrac a smile before retreating.

It’s a relief, never-the-less, when Jehan returns to his group’s number, looking bright and cheerful as ever.

*

“Montparnasse was asking about you,” Combeferre tells Jehan when he arrives at the meeting, and Jehan raises an eyebrow.

“Oh,” he says, hoping that he sounds nonchalant. “What did they want?”

Combeferre looks at him, and it’s clear that he knows. Jehan determinedly keeps eye contact. “They were asking after your well-being. Apparently your absence the other day alarmed them.”

Jehan fights back a smile and says, “I’ll have to thank them for their concern,” knowing that he won’t.

“Be careful,” Combeferre says.

Their conversation is never mentioned by either of them again.

*

Jehan’s apparent lack of interest in Montparnasse starts to grate on them. It’s hard to be constantly ignored – as if they are completely invisible – night after night. They constantly want to stand on a table and scream at Jehan, “Just _look_ at me! _Smile_ at me! Just once!”

It’s unbearable, knowing that Jehan is just a few tables away, smiling and laughing as he talks to his friends, but never turning his head in Montparnasse’s direction. And Montparnasse is _miserable_ , because why would the beautiful Jehan ever look upon them with anything but disdain? Montparnasse is a common criminal. A thief. A murderer, no less. (Though that was an accident.)

They feel themself slipping further into melancholy, knowing that they couldn’t ever deserve Jehan’s attention. Because Jehan is _good_. He’s careful and sweet, he’s passionate and determined, he writes _poetry_ , for fuck’s sake. Montparnasse has never done anything in their life to deserve to have something so pure.

“Parnasse?” Claquesous asks, one night, looking at them with concern. “You alright?”

Montparnasse shakes their head, their eyes never leaving Jehan, who’s talking animatedly with Enjolras and Combeferre. They don’t look at Claquesous, but had they, they would have seen the growing look of darkness upon their friend’s face.

*

It’s late at night, and Jehan is in love with the world. The streets of Paris were made to be wandered aimlessly through, and everything is beautiful in his eyes. Though… something doesn’t feel right. Even as Jehan smiles happily at the brick houses that line the street, he is filled with the growing suspicion that he is not alone, even at this late hour.

There’s someone watching him. No, worse, there’s someone following him.

Fear spikes through Jehan, and his hands tighten into fists inside his coat pockets, one hand clutching his keys, with the intention of using them as a weapon, if the worst comes to worst.

There’s a shadow approaching him down the street, walking in his direction, and, as subtly as he can, Jehan crosses the street. The shadow does, too. Jehan turns around, and walks back the way he came. Someone approaches him from there, too.

Jehan stops. He takes a deep breath, feeling terrified. He crosses back over the street, and so do the two strangers. That’s when Jehan starts to run. He dashes out into the middle of the road, sprinting for a side street that he knows is nearby, where a friend from his poetry club lives.

He doesn’t make it far before someone with strong arms wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him back against them. “Don’t scream,” the person warns him, “or I’ll kill you.”

Jehan whimpers, feeling tears prick his eyes. The person holding him picks him up and carries him into a dirty, secluded alleyway. Oh, God, Jehan thinks. Whatever happens now, it’s going to be truly awful. He feels himself start to cry as he’s slammed up against a brick wall, face-first. “Please,” he begs. “Please, don’t-”

The stranger knees him in the back, and swears at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

Jehan screams. “Help!” he cries. “Someone, help me!”

His shouts turn back into sobs as the mugger grabs a handful of his hair and slams his head against the brick wall. He crumples, crying on the dirty floor of the alley. “Stop,” he moans, tears running down his face. His head hurts so much he can barely think. He’s distantly aware of another person in the alley, watching this person beat him.

Jehan’s lifted to his feet, then, before the other person steps forwards and punches him in the stomach. Jehan hunches over, coughing and crying, unable to catch his breath before another punch lands in the same place. He throws his fist out, wildly, and knows that he makes contact only because he’s now on the floor again, and one of the strangers is swearing bloody murder.

Jehan sobs, and tries to crawl away, dragging himself along the floor, fingers clawing at the concrete desperately. “Help!” he tries to shout, but it barely comes out as a whisper.

Someone grabs his foot and yanks him back towards them, and they press him down into the ground, and Jehan screams, trying to wriggle away, arms pushing weakly at the weight on top of him. His eyes catch on the glint of a knife, and Jehan’s whole body starts trembling weakly as the knife is pressed down against his cheek. He feels it slice through the skin, and another scream tears its way from his lips. Tears mix with blood, and Jehan desperately tries to escape.

“You broke my nose, you prick,” Jehan’s attacker says. Jehan moans in despair as the stranger leans over him, their breath hot against his skin.

“Don’t,” Jehan sobs. “Don’t- Please-”

And then, suddenly, the weight is gone. Jehan doesn’t understand what’s happening, and he curls in on himself protectively, head in his arms, knees pulled up to his chest. Dimly, he’s aware that there’s someone else here, and, could it be? It sounds like they’re beating up Jehan’s attackers. Jehan can’t bear to hope, only to be disappointed and set upon again, but he also can’t move. His head is throbbing and his whole body protests every movement he makes, so he remains curled up on the cold floor, crying into his coat sleeves.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but soon someone’s lifting him into their arms, making soft, gentle noises, and Jehan instinctively curls into them. He cries against their chest as they carry him out of the alleyway.

“Jehan,” they say, quietly. “Jehan, I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay. They’re not going to hurt you, now.”

Jehan just continues to cry. He cries until unconsciousness takes over.

*

Montparnasse watches over Jehan, scared out of their mind for the little man lying on their couch. Jehan’s been unconscious since Montparnasse carried him out of that alley, away from the men that hurt him, and Montparnasse hasn’t left his side once.

They feel like they should contact Jehan’s friends, but when they checked Jehan’s phone, it required a passcode, and besides, the screen was cracked so badly they’re not sure it would register them typing anything in.

So instead they just wait for Jehan to wake. They wait, and they wait, and they wait.

*

Jehan wakes up. His head is pounding, and the muscles in his side are _screaming_ at him not to move. He starts crying almost as soon as he’s awake, memories of the previous night flooding back to him, along with the agony of his injuries.

It hurts so badly that he doesn’t even give a thought to his surroundings, not, at least, until a voice says, gently, “Jehan?”

Jehan’s head twists in the direction of the voice, pain slicing through him at the movement, and he gasps. “Montparnasse?” he asks, in utter confusion. “How did I-? Did you save me?”

Montparnasse nods. Their eyes stay fixed on Jehan’s face. “How’s the pain?” they ask, sounding worried. “It looked… It looked bad.”

Jehan tries to sit up, but finds that he can’t.

“I put some ice on your side when you first arrived, but then I was worried about you getting a cold while you slept, and I put a plaster on the cut on your face, I hope you’re not allergic, God, I didn’t even think about that, and I put a bandage on your knee as well. I’m sorry, your jeans are wrecked.”

Jehan looks at Montparnasse as they ramble in bewilderment. “Thank you,” he says, when Montparnasse eventually stops.

Montparnasse blinks. “It was my pleasure. I- I mean, not my _pleasure_ ,” they stumble, “I’d much rather you hadn’t been in that situation, I rather mean… Well, you’re welcome. It was no trouble.” They blush.

Jehan’s eyes catch on a bruise on the side of Montparnasse’s face. “You’re hurt, too,” he says.

“It’s nothing,” Montparnasse promises. “They’re much worse off.”

Jehan smiles at that, though it causes a shooting pain through his head. “I should call my friends,” Jehan says, eventually, after a long, comfortable silence between the two of them.

Montparnasse nods. “I was going to, but I couldn’t get into your phone, it’s, um, kind of broken, and I didn’t know their numbers, and I didn’t want to leave you.”

Jehan says, “It’s okay. Can I borrow yours, in that case?”

Montparnasse agrees immediately, and hands over their phone without hesitation. Jehan watches them for a moment, and then turns his attention to the unlocked phone in his hands. He dials the first number he can remember and then puts the phone to his ear, ignoring the protestations that his body makes.

Feuilly picks up on the fifth ring. “Hello, this is Feuilly,” the man says.

“Feuilly,” Jehan says, “it’s Jehan. I’m, I’m with Montparnasse. I was attacked.”

Feuilly gasps. “Where are you? I’m on my way.”

“Montparnasse’s flat, I’d assume,” he pulls away from the phone, “What’s your address?”

Montparnasse quickly tells him and Jehan repeats it for Feuilly’s ears.

“Bahorel and I will be there shortly,” Feuilly promises.

“Thanks, Feuilly,” Jehan says, and then hangs up. He hands the phone back to Montparnasse. “Thank you,” he says, quietly. Yawning, he lowers his head to the cushion on the sofa. “My head is killing me,” he admits.

“Would you like some pain medication? Or perhaps just a drink?” Montparnasse offers.

Jehan looks at Montparnasse without lifting his head. “Water would be lovely, thank you.”

Quickly, Montparnasse gets to their feet, and promises, “I’ll be right back.”

Jehan smiles after them. Soon, he has a glass of water between his hands, and Montparnasse is rambling again as they wait for Feuilly and Bahorel. Montparnasse is talking about a TV show they’ve been watching, something about a detective and serial killer that end up falling in love, or something equally ridiculous yet enthralling. Jehan’s just listening, content to lie in silence with the cadence of Montparnasse’s voice filling the room.

There’s a knock on the door, and Montparnasse jumps to their feet and hurry to answer it, letting Bahorel and Feuilly crash into the room, swarming Jehan immediately.

“Guys,” Jehan says, batting away Bahorel’s hands, “I’m fine.” He throws a smile to Montparnasse. “Montparnasse has taken good care of me.”

Feuilly casts a look between the two of them. “Have they?” he asks.

“Montparnasse rescued me,” Jehan tells his friends, quietly. “They saved me. Those attackers could have killed me, or- or-”

The weight of the events are crashing down upon him as he talks, and his lower lip trembles as his mind turns to all the things that his attackers could have done to him. He doesn’t realise he’s crying until Bahorel’s gathering him up in her arms and holding him closely, murmuring soothing sounds in his ear.

“Let’s get him home,” Jehan hears Feuilly say, and Bahorel carefully coaxes Jehan to his feet, wrapping one arm around his waist.

Montparnasse quickly says, “His side is badly bruised. You’ll want to get that wrapped up. I don’t think there are any broken ribs, but maybe a doctor should see him.”

Bahorel eyes Montparnasse distrustfully, but she still says, “Thank you for looking after him,” grudgingly.

Jehan gets out a, “Thanks, Mont,” as he’s helped out of the flat.

“See you around, Prouvaire,” Montparnasse replies, with a ghost of a smile upon their face.

*

It takes Jehan a while to recover physically, and during that time he hardly leaves his flat, spending many hours in bed reading. Honestly, he’s a little nervous about going outside. It’s irrational, he knows, but still the thought remains that his attackers are still out there. He didn’t see their faces, couldn’t recognise them on the street, and feels vulnerable because of it.

The first time he ventures outside, after the attack, he goes with Bahorel and Combeferre on either side of him, as a form of protection and encouragement. They head to the Musain for the weekly meeting, and Jehan searches the room for Montparnasse the second they walk through the door.

But… they’re not there.

Jehan’s heart rate picks up rapidly with this realisation. Where are they? Why aren’t they here? Panicked, Jehan turns and grabs at Combeferre’s arm. “Montparnasse isn’t here,” he says.

Combeferre smiles, gently. “I’m sure they’re fine, Jehan.”

“But-”

“Jehan, breathe,” Combeferre reminds him, and Jehan, obediently, takes a deep breath. “Now, is it likely that Montparnasse would be seriously harmed?”

“Yes!” Jehan cries. “He’s a criminal, for goodness’ sake.”

Combeferre smiles. “Okay, that is true. Perhaps not my best line of reason. Jehan, none of their group is here. They’re most likely with them.”

Jehan notes that this is true, and turns away, a little sulkily. “I just thought they’d come see how I am.”

“How could they know you’d be here tonight?”

“Because I’m always here,” Jehan points out. “We’re _all_ always here.”

Combeferre laughs and pats him on the shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll stop by sooner or later.” Jehan just sighs in response, and goes to sit between Feuilly and Grantaire for extra security.

Not long into the meeting, in the middle of a particularly long speech from Joly and Bossuet, Jehan leans over to Feuilly and whispers, “I don’t like this.”

“Like what?” Feuilly asks, in a hushed tone so as not to disturb the meeting.

“That Mont and the others aren’t here,” Jehan tells him.

“You don’t like the fact that our regular hecklers aren’t here?” Feuilly asks, sounding incredulous.

Jehan nods. His hand is gripping Feuilly’s arm tightly, but he doesn’t remember doing that. “It feels unsafe. It feels _wrong_ , Feuilly. Mont should be here. Why aren’t they here?”

At this point, more than half the group have picked up on the whispered conversation, and perhaps under normal circumstances, they’d ignore it, but when one of the participants was recently beaten up in an alley, things aren’t quite the same.

Enjolras is the one who chooses to say something about it. “Jehan, is everything okay?”

Jehan’s eyes dart to his friend and then around the group widening in surprise when he notices that all of them are looking at him. He quickly looks away. “Yes, I’m fine,” he says, letting go of Feuilly’s arm. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Courfeyrac says. “You just… You seemed upset about something.”

Jehan stands up abruptly. “I’m fine. Carry on.” He moves away from the table quickly, trying to ignore the weight of his friends’ gazes.

He’s out the door before he can really think his actions through, but the darkness outside makes him recoil in fear, the silence of the empty street surrounding him. Panicked, he’s about to rush back inside when somebody grabs him. He screams, on instinct, and pulls his arm away sharply, to the sound of Montparnasse swearing. “Shit, Prouvaire, I didn’t mean to scare you, fuck, I’m sorry.”

Back against the wall, Jehan forces himself to breathe a little slower. “Mont?” he asks, heart pounding in his chest.

“Yeah,” Montparnasse says. “It’s me. I really am sorry, God, I’m such an idiot.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jehan tells them. “You couldn’t have known I’d react like that, it’s not your fault. Why weren’t you in the bar, tonight?”

“I-” Montparnasse stutters. “I was checking that you were alright, but I didn’t think you’d want to see me, and-”

“Of _course_ I wanted to see you!” Jehan exclaims. “Mont, you saved my _life_.”

That makes Montparnasse go a pretty shade of pink, with a small smile on their face.  Jehan wants to take a picture and have it framed on his bedroom wall. “It was nothing,” Montparnasse says.

“Not to me, it wasn’t,” Jehan insists. “I’m really grateful, Mont.”

“You call me Mont,” Montparnasse says, suddenly.

“Oh, sorry, do you not like it?” Jehan asks, a little worried he’s offended his rescuer.

“No, I- No one else calls me that. I like that you do,” Montparnasse admits. Jehan grins at them and appreciates the way it makes Montparnasse go even redder and smile, seemingly unable to maintain eye contact. There’s a chance it’s just vanity but Jehan isn’t prone to that, and he thinks that perhaps the infamous criminal has a crush on him. Testing this, Jehan swishes slightly, letting his skirt sway, and he runs a hand through his long hair, tucking it behind his ear and giving Montparnasse a sweet smile. It makes Montparnasse gape slightly and stare, before blushing even harder and struggling to find something to say.

Jehan beams. Then he puts on a slight frown. “Hey, uh, I don’t really feel comfortable walking home alone. Would you walk with me?”

At that moment Cosette appears in the doorway. “Oh, good, you’re alright. Are you coming back in?”

“No,” Jehan says. “Mont is going to walk me home.”

“I am?” Montparnasse asks.

“He is?” Cosette asks.

“I am,” Montparnasse confirms, looking at Jehan with a slightly amazed look on their face.

“Alright then,” Cosette says, a little warily. “Call if you need anything.” With a last glance up and down Montparnasse, she goes back inside, to pass on the information to everyone else and re-join the night’s topic.

Jehan turns to Montparnasse. “Ready?” he asks as he starts walking, looking back at Montparnasse over his shoulder with a smile.

“Y-Yeah,” Montparnasse says, half a step behind Jehan.

They walk in silence, side-by-side on the dark streets, but every now and then they’ll catch one another sneaking glances and look away quickly, grinning and blushing.

Montparnasse leaves Jehan at his door, briefly reaching out and touching his shoulder lightly. “Goodnight,” they say, softly, and Jehan gives them a smile just for them.

“Thanks for walking me home,” Jehan says.

“My pleasure,” Montparnasse replies. They wait till Jehan’s gone inside the building before turning and walking away.

+

It becomes a routine after that. Jehan goes to the meeting. Montparnasse either stands outside and waits, or comes in and sits on the other side of the room, watching Jehan intently. It’s clear that they make some of the members of Les Amis uncomfortable, but the smiles that they get off Jehan more than make up for it.

When the meeting comes to an end, Jehan will meet Montparnasse and they will walk back to Jehan’s flat, together. Sometimes Montparnasse will come in for a drink, and other times they’ll leave him at the door.

One night, Jehan asks Montparnasse if they’d like to come sit at Les Amis’ table. Blushing and stuttering, Montparnasse manages to accept the offer and, hesitantly, they sit beside Jehan for the evening. Grantaire keeps grinning in their direction, while Enjolras keeps throwing them distrustful looks. The rest of the Amis just try to carry on as normal.

That night, as they walk down the familiar route to Jehan’s home, their hands brush between them, skin on skin. The second time they touch, Jehan twists his hand round to capture Montparnasse’s.

Holding hands, Montparnasse is on fire. They glance at Jehan, who’s simply looking straight ahead as they walk, but there’s a hint of a smile upon the man’s face, and Montparnasse grins, bashfully. When they reach Jehan’s and come to a stop outside of his door, Montparnasse looks down at their joined hands.

“Thank you for walking me home,” Jehan says, softly, not letting go of them.

“My pleasure,” Montparnasse says.

And then, as if it were something they do all the time, Jehan stands on his tiptoes and presses a kiss to Montparnasse’s cheek. Leaning back, he grins. “See you next week?”

“Of course,” Montparnasse says, voice hoarse and amazed.

Jehan smiles, softly. “Good,” he says, and then he goes into his flat, leaving Montparnasse standing on his doorstep dumbstruck.

After a second of shocked stillness, Montparnasse’s face breaks into a grin and as he walks away, he whispers a forceful, “Yes!” He even pumps his fist in the air, grinning wildly.

+

The next week, Jehan asks a question that has been playing on his mind, and from the look on Montparnasse’s face, they’d been wondering when Jehan was going to ask, and they weren’t looking forward to the moment.

“Where are your friends?” Jehan asks, and Montparnasse goes white.

They breathe out shakily, as they sit together on a table separate to the others, side-by-side, holding hands. “I’m so sorry,” they say.

Jehan frowns, confused. “Why?” he asks.

Montparnasse looks at him, and Jehan understands a second before Montparnasse says, “They were the ones that beat you up.”

“Oh,” Jehan says. Montparnasse closes their eyes.

“I’m sorry,” they say, and when they open their eyes they’re nearly crying. “It’s all my fault.”

“No,” Jehan says, quickly. He sits closer to Montparnasse, pulling one of his hands away to touch Montparnasse’s cheek. “This isn’t your fault. You _saved_ me, Mont.”

“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t need saving. They did it because you- Because I was in pain and they blamed you.” They pull away from Jehan’s touch, running their hands through their hair.

“Why were you in pain?” Jehan asks, quietly, eyes searching Montparnasse’s face.

Montparnasse looks back at him. They breathe out, sharply. “Because I’m in love with you,” they say. “And I just wanted you to look at me.”

It’s Jehan’s turn to look pale and shaken. “I always looked at you,” Jehan says. “I did! You were all I thought about most days. I told all my friends about how in love with you I was!”

Montparnasse gapes at him. “ _What_? I’m the person? I’m the one you were always talking about?”

“Of _course_ you were! You were everything I wanted, Mont,” Jehan says, emphatically. He grabs hold of Montparnasse’s hands. “Mont, of course it was you.”

“Was?” Montparnasse asks, quietly, unable to meet Jehan’s eyes.

“Is!” Jehan loudly declares. “I’m in love with you, Montparnasse! And I don’t give a damn that your friends beat me up!”

“They’re not my friends anymore,” Montparnasse says.

“And so I love you even more,” Jehan says, softly. “I love you, Mont.”

Montparnasse looks at him, and they look terrified but there’s a layer of joy that’s threatening to break through. “I love you, too,” they say, sounding like they think Jehan’s going to take his words back any second, so they need to say this now. “I love you so fucking much. You’re wonderful, Jean Prouvaire.”

Jehan beams at them. “Can I kiss you?” he asks.

Montparnasse stares at him, lips parted in shock. They lick them, and breathe out shakily. “ _Please_ …” they whisper.

At first, it’s just a gentle brush of the lips, and Montparnasse’s eyes flutter shut at the contact. Their hand comes up to rest on the back of Jehan’s neck, fingers tangling gentle in the long hair that isn’t tied up today. Encouraged, they kiss harder, and Montparnasse isn’t even embarrassed when they feel tears starting to spill down their cheeks. Jehan’s crying too, after all.

They end up simply smiling against each other, holding one another tightly. “I love you,” Montparnasse says again, because now they can. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Jehan says. “I adore you.”

And Montparnasse simply can’t stop smiling. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it!
> 
> I have a writing blog: theskyis-forever come say hi and leave a prompt :)
> 
> Also, if you enjoyed this: [buy me a coffee?](http://ko-fi.com/A831F9U)


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